


cross my heart, hope to die

by missbolton



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Andrew, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Past Abuse, Post-Canon, Trust, andrew is in loooovvveeee, it isn't every1's cup of tea, pls dont read this if ur not comfortable with andrew bottoming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-14 12:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14770083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbolton/pseuds/missbolton
Summary: It takes him four years.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE bottom!andrew
> 
> and I was tempted to just write him bottoming but then I was like ellie no. Andrew needs to work up to this bc he's emotionally damaged over it and it wouldn't just happen. that's why this has more than one chapter

It takes him four years.

For the first few years, it isn’t even an option. His ass is off limits. To everybody. Even when he grows accustomed to Neil’s casual touches in other places, hands below his hips has always been a dangerous game to play. The memory of pain, although years old, is fresh in his mind. It's like a broken alarm which won't stop ringing even when there's no danger present.

The ghost of unwarranted touches crawl over his skin whenever he feels something brush too close. The poisonous memories burn in his mind when he thinks about it - hands, _everywhere_ , pulling and pushing, his broken voice buried in the pillow.

 _Watch out,_ his mind chants, placing toxic notions into his head. _They’re out to get you_.

Neil is okay with his boundaries, too. That’s even more maddening.

Andrew makes up his mind on one of their lazy days. They are his favourite kind of days, when they have the house in Colombia entirely to themselves, intended for tender exploration of each other and lounging around. They can skip exercise and lie in bed until gone noon, exchanging languid kisses and stray stories about their pasts, light touches which would mean nothing to others. To them, each brush of skin is cherished. 

It was on a day like this which Neil first touched him sexually, one hand wrapped around Andrew’s cock and the other laced with Andrew’s fingers.

One of these kind of days was when Andrew first fell asleep, body pressed firmly to Neil’s. When he woke up, he hadn’t felt the overwhelming need to push the body away. Ever since then, if Neil asks, and if it’s a yes, Andrew will pull Neil close, an arm wrapped around him.

The first time Neil touches his ass, Andrew is in his last year. It begins with a whispered, “Yes or no?” followed by Andrew guiding his hands where he wants them.

Of course, Neil touches him achingly slowly, so cautious, unwilling to shatter this moment. The touch feels bewilderingly new. Hands knead the flesh, gentle yet firm, and Andrew kisses Neil so he doesn’t have to face looking at him. He lets himself melt into the touch, fingers tracing the bumps of scars on Neil’s stomach.

The touch isn’t necessarily sexual, but Andrew’s arousal grows increasingly evident against Neil’s thigh. He tries to hide it by arching away but it doesn’t work. Neil tugs his hands away, suddenly frightened that Andrew’s pulling away is a non-verbal _no_.

“Okay?” Neil asks, eyes searching. Andrew just looks at him, feeling strangely breathless, and Neil adds, “Is it still a yes?”

“Shut up.” But he doesn’t stop looking at him _like that_ so Andrew says, “Still a yes.”

He doesn’t mean to kiss Neil, but he does. Their mouths slide together easily, kissing now a routine rehearsed countless times.

“Can you …” Andrew begins, sentence falling into silence after a second. Asking for things has always struck an unpleasant chord, reminding him painfully of his ignored pleas from the past. But he likes this comfort created with Neil. Especially here, in the bubble of Colombia. This is where he can bare his vulnerabilities and Neil will embrace them. “Can you carry on?”

Neil notices the absence of a command and a smile flickers over his face. It’s so fast that Andrew barely notices, only caught due to the intensity of his gaze.

When the hands beginning to gently massage again, Andrew presses a hard, chaste kiss to Neil’s lips. He refuses to admit it's a  _thankyou_. The touch lasts for what feels like hours, stretching gloriously over the time wrapped up in their own little world.

Eventually, life comes rolling back around, the rumbling of Neil’s stomach reminding them that lunch is due. But even as they stumble downstairs, Andrew still feels the ghost of Neil’s careful hands sliding up the backs of his thighs, running over the curve of his ass.

* * *

Over the next year or two, touches like that become easier. Andrew can guide Neil’s hands to his ass fluidly, no horrible thoughts attacking him as he does it. It doesn’t even have to be in bed. In the kitchen, Andrew will crowd Neil against the counter and say _yes_ and Neil will understand what he wants, understanding that Andrew is wiping away bad memories and replacing them with better ones. Replacing memories of Drake with new ones of Neil. Replacing hurt with _this_ \- whatever _this_ is. This feeling is warm and ever expanding.

He discovers that it isn’t something he likes merely in non-sexual touches, either. The next time is when Andrew is buried deep inside of Neil; his legs are spread, heels grazing the back of Andrew’s thighs. The touch on his thighs, close to his ass, prompts him to be reminded of something else.

It doesn’t make him want to pull away.

It makes him want to get closer.

Andrew grunts out, “Touch my ass.” 

Neil takes a second and looks him in the eyes as he does it - just in case Andrew is pushing himself too far. But he wants this. He doesn’t ask for things he doesn’t want. 

When his fingers gently press over Andrew’s bare skin, it takes them a moment to adjust. Andrew stops moving for a second, looking down at Neil. He hopes his eyes don’t betray too much. Judging by the way Neil looks back, eyes shining and cheeks flushed, his eyes are showing exactly what he’s feeling. Usually, hiding emotions behind a mask is second nature.

Now, he can’t he even manage it.

This is what Neil does to hm.

Slowly, Andrew pushes in again. Neil lets out a low noise, one of the noises which leave Andrew shuddering. 

Most times, his ass had been off-limits during sex. Even Andrew is surprised by how much he wants the distinct pressure of Neil’s hands on him - not just there, _everywhere_. He wants Neil’s hands on his legs, ass, chest, back, shoulders, arms ... 

Obviously, he only has two hands. And at the moment, Andrew wants them where they are. 

Slowly, Neil becomes more sure of himself, pushing lightly and urging Andrew’s hips back and forwards. It becomes faster, driven by the light squeeze of Neil’s fingers. There is enough pressure there to feel it, but he is still unbearably gentle, as if Andrew will shatter if he pushes too hard.

Neil finishes with a loud groan; Andrew follows, shutting his eyes and nearly blacking out with the intensity of the orgasm. The hands on his ass are still there, a comforting weight rather than a punishing one.

Once Andrew rolls off, he croaks out a weak, “I hate you so much.”

Neil huffs out a quiet laugh. “I know."

They both know it’s not true.

 

* * *

 Andrew graduates first. The first year without Neil feels awful, although he refuses to admit that he is unbearably lonely. When people ask how he is, he replies with, "Fine," and tries not to think about how crushing Neil's absence really is.

It’s gets harder and harder to take care of himself, and it leaves him with the cold realisation that he’s far too dependant on Neil. People aren’t clutches. It doesn’t work that way. It can’t work that way.

He makes the mistake of not calling Neil deliberately, just to prove he doesn’t need him.

It turns out he does need him. Having spent most of his life becoming reliant on nobody, Andrew is irritated that he’s allowed himself to lean on Neil in this way, but for some reason, he doesn’t want to stop. Each stolen weekend is just as comforting as the last. 

When Neil graduates the next year and they join different professional teams, separation lasts for weeks, sometimes even months. Their only way of communication is the phone. Neil’s voice doesn’t sound the same when distorted through the speaker.

For somebody who claims he doesn’t need anybody, Andrew certainly struggles with the shocking loneliness. It’s not like Neil chatters for hours on end, but somehow the silence somehow feels three times heavier without the familiar presence. 

After one particularly horrible goodbye, one which left emotion curling unpleasantly in his stomach, Andrew comes to the conclusion that he wants the thing he’s been so wary of for years. The feeling of Neil’s hand on his ass over his jeans is enough to send thrills through him. Skin against skin is better, Neil watching him intently as he runs calloused hands under Andrew’s underwear, being immensely cautious of the ‘yes’ exchanged just moments before.

He is in the shower when he decides he wants Neil to fuck him.

Obviously, it’s not that simple. Years of trauma follow him regarding people touching him like that. Andrew wants this but he can’t just _take_ it. He’s already testing the universe, wondering if he’s allowed to have something like Neil. He doesn’t want to push it. What if his happiness only extends so far?

It takes another month to be able to approach the subject. He turns it over in his head, trying to wrap his mind around it - Neil underneath him, Neil inside of him, Neil pushing into him, Neil bringing him to an orgasm, Neil _changing_ the way he looks at things.

Andrew wants it. He often tries not to want things. Wanting has only ever left him so empty in the past.

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, Neil stares at him like an idiot when he brings it up. He clears his throat, trying to look totally unaffected, but there’s a flush rising over his cheeks and that familiar _look_ he gets when he’s turned on. “Right now?”

"Not right now. We've got four hours before your flight leaves," Andrew tells him flatly. He runs a finger across Neil’s lips, a reassuring gesture. _It’s okay, this is what I want. It’s a yes._ “But at some point.”

Neil just looks at him.

“Is it a yes or a no?” Andrew prompts. Just because he’s pushing his own boundaries, doesn’t mean Neil has to push his. 

“ _Yes_. Yes, it is, it’s just … you’re … sure?”

“I’m sure,” he affirms, levelling his best flat stare at Neil. He's tempted to remind Neil he doesn't ask for things he isn't sure about, or things that are out of his control. But this moment is a fragile one. He doesn't want to risk ruining it with sarcastic remarks.

“Okay." Neil looks at him, lips tilting upwards, not enough to poke dimples into his cheeks, but still enough to make his eyes flash. "Just tell me whenever you’re ready.”

If Andrew judges by the warmth trying to claw itself from his chest, he’ll be ready very soon.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These things take time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> life is kicking my ass atm. have this shit.
> 
> there is a chapter count of 3 so i'll update the final part as soon as i've edited it enough, but i really wasn't happy with how it looked all together, so i've just uploaded the first part

When Neil gets off the plane, he looks exhausted. Although he claims he’s not _that_ tired, a few minutes after they arrive back, he falls asleep on Andrew’s couch, his arm tucked under the pillow and breathing heavily. Andrew just watches him, occasionally stroking fingers through his hair. Neil obviously needs rest. Andrew’s plans will have to wait for later.

After two hours, Neil stirs.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Wha - _morning_ ?” He looks at the clock. When he reads _1:23,_ he shoots Andrew one of his annoyed looks. “You let me sleep.”

He sounds affronted that Andrew would dare to do such a thing. Andrew scoffs and says nothing.

“I have all night to sleep.”

“Now you have two hours extra.”

Neil frowns. His hair is sticking up on one side from where he’s slept on it. “Andrew.” He doesn’t say it, but Andrew hears _I want to see you_ in his tone.

“It’s been three weeks, drama queen.” 

Despite being pedantic, Andrew still indulges him in a kiss, hands smoothing circles in his shoulders. It is far too quick. Andrew ducks down and kisses him again, and again, until eventually he pulls his head back and forces words to come out. Neil always throws him off balance.

“Three weeks is long.”

“So two hours makes no difference.”

“Does,” he argues, because he’s Neil, but doesn’t push it further than that.

Instead, they kiss more. Andrew allows Neil to touch his back over the shirt; Andrew has missed Neil’s mouth and hands, the way he slides his fingers over his shoulder blades, pressing firm hands into his lower back and sides.

Neil jolts hard against him when Andrew’s hands brushes his crotch. He makes a strange noise, some kind of groan, hips bucking up and hands digging into Andrew’s shoulders desperately.

“It’s been three weeks,” Neil says defensively when Andrew raises an eyebrow at him. “That’s way too long.”

“It is,” Andrew agrees quietly. He gives Neil no chance to reply, capturing his lips in another hard kiss.

At some point, Neil yanks off his own shirt. Andrew takes a second to look at him, despite already having his torso committed to memory, and leans forwards, pressing his lips against Neil’s skin. They shift positions so that Neil is on his back and Andrew is over him. He kisses down Neil’s chest slowly, pausing over some scars to run his tongue over them, drinking in the low noises and ragged breaths from Neil. Andrew feels his own arousal stirring, but refuses to acknowledge it. Neil looks absolutely blown apart underneath him.

“Andrew,” he pants.

“Neil,” Andrew replies, trying to hide his own shaky breathing.

“I missed you.”

Andrew doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t need to. He knows Neil understands when he kisses him, softly, strangely chaste for this heated moment.

Andrew instead says, “I want you to finger me.”

Neil tenses underneath him. This role reversal is somewhat humorous. Surely _Andrew_ should be the tense one.

Once Neil makes sense of the words, he pulls back. He looks at Andrew for a few long moments, opening and closing his mouth, at a total loss for words. 

After about eight seconds, it grows boring, and Andrew continues with a, “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” he says hurriedly. That is a familiar question - one he knows how to answer. “But are you -”

“Sure?” Andrew says, an air of mockery in his voice. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t.”

Neil nods, completely accepting. Not one complaint about Andrew's boundaries. Not an ounce of dissatisfaction.

“Shut up,” Andrew tells him, although Neil’s not saying anything. His face speaks volumes about his thoughts. His admiration. His happiness. Andrew isn’t sure what to do with it. “Bedroom.”

Neil is hasty to obey him.

It takes a few minutes to stop kissing and get ready. Neil strips off entirely but Andrew keeps as many clothes on as possible, tugging off his jeans and underwear only because that is absolutely necessary. That helps soothe the edges of his anxiety. 

Softly, Neil asks, “Ready?”

His answer is yes, but the first slick press of Neil’s fingers, Andrew tenses. It’s more out of reflex. He’s spent so long safeguarding his body that letting somebody in is difficult, and even now, his traitorous brain is chanting _don’t let anybody in, stay away, they’ll hurt you -_

Andrew bats those thoughts firmly away.

Of course, there is the threat of bad memories nagging at the back of his mind, but they are always there. They have adopted residence at the back of his head, forever there, forever a threat. 

But as Neil looks up at him through his lashes, “Yes or no?” slipping from his lips in a fragile whisper, those memories feel almost muted. Faded. They feel as if they happened several decades ago rather than several years ago.

“Yes,” he replies shortly, voice rough from disuse. 

Eventually, he relaxes, keeping his eyes firmly on Neil. He stares at the scarring on his cheek, his sharp eyes, his bright hair and focuses on that instead. He doesn't want horrible memories of Drake to make a surprise appearance and shatter this, ruin  _this_ forever. He doesn't want to look at Neil and think about the men who hurt him. Neil isn't on that list and he never will be - Andrew won't let him.

When Neil works up to a second finger, he holds Andrew’s eyes as he does it. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Andrew nods curtly. It doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t feel like much. It feels fine. _Just_ fine. No mocking voices echoing in his ears, no pain, no sickening touches. 

But it’s intended to get him used to the feeling, get him used to trusting Neil in that way. It isn’t even meant to make him come. That would loosen his grip on the world. Right now, he needs to stay with his feet firmly on the ground.

This kind of rush is the same he gets when dangling his feet off the edge of a roof. He fears it, yet he wants it.

Eventually, the calm pleasure becomes overwhelming. All he has to say is, “Neil,” and Neil withdraws his fingers. Somehow, despite being in such a vulnerable position with his legs spread and Neil between them, he feels perfectly in control. 

Neil looks up at him. “Is it a no?”

Andrew closes his legs, propping himself up further. “It’s a yes.” A pause. “For other things. I’ve had enough of that.”

He says it with such detachment that it sounds like he disliked every second of it. But he didn’t. Neil knows that. Neil knows that he distances himself from emotion so he doesn’t get tangled up in them, and with a moment as precarious as this one, they are both being careful.

Instead, Neil blows him. That is more familiar ground.

When it’s over, Neil wipes his mouth and says, smiling stupidly, “I enjoyed that.”

Andrew grumbles, “Shut up.”

They both know he enjoyed it too. 

* * *

By the fourth time, it is comfortable. There is the familiar feeling each time - the initial stretch, the feeling of something inside of him, the closeness. It feels nice, but no nicer than Neil’s hand brushing over his knee, or his lips ghosting over his cheek. There’s nothing insanely pleasurable there. He doesn’t understand why Neil reacts with such fervour when the roles are reversed, moaning and writhing like he does.

However, this time, when Neil asks, “Yes or no?” with a pointed glance to Andrew’s cock, Andrew’s answer is _yes_ without even a second of hesitation. He knows what he wants.

Neil shifts closer and lowers his mouth. Andrew’s thigh twitches out involuntarily and he clenches his jaw. Neil’s mouth is hot and familiar, and his fingers are deliriously firm inside of him. Slowly, achingly fucking slowly, Neil slides down and back up, tightening his lips on the upstroke. He does it four more times. On the last pull back, his tongue darts out to press the swollen vein underneath the head, and Andrew grunts out, “ _Neil_.”

Then, as if fuelled by Andrew’s increasing desperation, Neil slides his fingers back. Andrew knows what he’s doing. He’s done it to Neil countless times. 

But he is not expecting pleasure to shoot through him when Neil curls his fingers upwards.

Andrew’s hands are fisted in the sheets, fingers white as if he loosens his grip, he will lose his tether to reality. This is dangerous. This is letting himself go. His mind needs to be aware, alert.

Neil presses there again, and Andrew thinks he’s unravelling at the seams. His thighs shake and his breathing comes in choppy little pants. He curses a few times, quietly, hoping it will go unheard. Neil does hear, and he moans lowly around Andrew, sending vibrations through him and shaking him to his core.

Fuck. Fucking Neil.

It happens very quickly after that. Andrew fights to keep his hips still, letting Neil’s fingers curl inside of him and his mouth work wonders on his cock. When he comes, he closes his eyes and bites his lip.

Afterwards, he kisses Neil hard, unwilling to look at the stupid grin which has graced his face.

* * *

“You’re quiet,” Neil comments absently, although his eyes are firm on the side of Andrew’s face. He’s been staring for the whole car ride. Andrew has been too busy wrapped up in his own thoughts to bring him up on it.

“I’m sick of you,” he corrects.

“Right.” Neil rolls his eyes. There is a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m with you for the whole weekend, so get used to me.”

“I was thinking of ditching you, actually,” Andrew says, bored. “Spend a quiet weekend in Columbia.”

Neil huffs out a laugh and goes back to staring out of the window.

Forty minutes later, they arrive at the house. Neil kicks off his shoes and pulls of his jumper, settling on the couch with his feet stretched out in front of him.

When he notices Andrew looking at him from the doorway, he grins. Andrew is torn between hating him and really, _really_ not hating him.

Most days, feelings are distant, as if they are behind glass. Neil manages to shatter that glass. The onslaught of emotions are not only exhausting, but overwhelming. They are painful, tugging at his heartstrings in a manner which he’s unfamiliar with.

Slowly, Andrew makes his way over to Neil, slotting neatly next to him. They haven’t visited Columbia for a while. Everything seems to happen so much less nowadays. Back when they were both at college, they would see each other daily, fuck most nights, sleep next to each other and smoke on the roof nearly all the time. Now, getting more than three days together is difficult.

Andrew brushes his fingers over a purple bruise on Neil’s knuckle. “You punched someone.”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and Andrew looks at him, a question in his raised eyebrows. “I punched a wall, not a someone.”

“A wall? That’s childish.”

“You broke the window once.”

“We’re talking about you, not me,” Andrew says flatly, but he betrays his supposed annoyance by running soft fingers over the bruise. “Why did you punch the wall?”

Neil’s grin falters a little bit. “I can’t even remember, honestly. Everything got to me, I guess. I spilled coffee on the carpet. The coffee was sort of the breaking point,” he adds, playing his favourite game of pretending that everything is just fine, making all of it into a joke. 

When Andrew greets him with a glare, Neil sighs.

“I don’t know. I missed you, I guess.”

If Andrew believed in regret, he would regret making Neil say that. As he says it, his face creases into a frown, his eyes dim a little. Andrew lifts Neil’s head to meet his eyes with one finger - _I’m here now._

“So you punched a wall.”

“Not hard.”

“And _that_ makes it okay, does it?”

This startles a laugh from Neil. His smile pokes dimples into his cheeks and Andrew watches him throw his head back, laughter golden to Andrew’s ears. Neil’s expression nowadays varies from miserable to sort of okay, but this kind of happiness is rare. This kind of loose-limbed relaxation is reserved for Andrew (and Andrew hates that he loves that).

Neil’s laughter trails off, and he leans forwards, searching for a _no_ in his eyes. He finds none. They kiss, far too briefly for Andrew’s liking, but any stolen time with Neil is satisfactory.

“It sucks having to play without you.”

Andrew just looks at him, which says enough to convey his agreement. Playing without Neil makes Exy more pointless than it already is.

“Soon, though,” Neil vows. “Soon we’ll play on the same team. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And they’re going to listen to you.”

“Yeah, they will, unless they want to lose their best striker.” 

“Best?” Andrew says, quirking an eyebrow, even though it’s undoubtedly true. The rest of Neil’s team look like children in comparison to the way he fluidly catches and moves. “Don’t get too full of yourself, Josten.”

Neil goes to reply, but Andrew smothers it with a kiss. He’s sick of all of this talking.

Into the kiss, Neil makes a low noise. Half-surprised, half-appreciative.

Andrew has no intention to tease. He wastes no time with soft kisses - he bites at Neil’s lip, hard and hungry, hands slipping under his shirt to press again hot skin. 

Tonight, he’s made up his mind. After months and months of agonising over it, he’s come to a sure conclusion.

Once Neil is hard and gasping under his mouth, he pulls back, looking at him intently. Andrew has Neil’s face memorised to every little detail, and yet a single glance sends a thrill down his spine as if it is the first time seeing it.

“Okay?” 

“I want you,” Andrew says, the words stretched and slow, “to fuck me. Yes or no?”

There is a long pause. Far too long. Neil seems to be frozen, lost for words underneath him. 

“Neil,” he prompts. “Yes or no?”

Neil blinks a few times, looking at Andrew with wide eyes. Then, once he summons his wits, he manages a, “ _Yes_. Are you -”

Andrew kisses him again, ignoring how his heart seems to be beating too fast.

It’s been a long time since they have discussed anything similar. They’ve been so caught up trying to steal time together that it’s been an afterthought, something for when the time is right. Andrew knows the time is now. He wants Neil close in every way possible.

“Are you -” Neil tries again, pulling back from Andrew’s lips in a hope to get some words out, but Andrew presses a hand to Neil’s dick over his clothes before he can ask the question.

Andrew doesn’t ask for things he isn’t sure about. He isn’t going to change his mind with this. He’s spent nights and nights awake, just thinking, thinking about how it would feel when done properly, and now his mind is made, that isn’t going to change.

But just to soothe Neil’s nerves, Andrew murmurs, “I’m sure.”

Neil’s eyes clear. There’s a strange, excited tilt to his lips.

“Now?”

“Go to the bedroom,” Andrew orders, climbing off of Neil to give him chance to get up. “Take off your clothes.”

Neil nods frantically, his eyes never leaving Andrew's face, looking as if it is something marvellous which nobody else has discovered yet.

Before he follows instructions, Neil leans down and presses a kiss to Andrew's forehead. It's quick, nothing more than a peck, but it is a reassurance within itself.  _I'm here._  

Andrew scowls, but as he follows Neil to the bedroom, his skin tingles where Neil's lips touched.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure what to feel about this??? ooc???? shit???? idk u guys tell me lol


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me whilst writing: wow. this is amazing. I'm so proud! this is my best work yet!
> 
> me whilst reading it through: okay w h A T is this
> 
> but here it is!! just some boyfriends being soft and careful with each other. this chapter has been a bitch to write and im so sorry if it came out really shitty. im just sick of reading through it by now lmao

By the time that Andrew reaches the bedroom, Neil is already naked. His scars are on full display and he makes no effort to shield himself. Unabashed, he settles on the bed, holding Andrew’s dark gaze with his own.

When they are together, Neil has no reservations about his body. He doesn’t shy away from the damage life did. Andrew finds it strange how he can barely stomach two seconds of looking in the mirror yet Neil will launch himself into the deep end in moments like this. He bares himself entirely. He throws his vulnerabilities out in the open. And only Andrew can touch them. Only he can map them out with his fingers and hands and mouth, tracing the shapes and memorising them. There is not one other person who Neil trusts enough. There's a twist of possessiveness in Andrew's chest at that knowledge. He's always liked having things of his own, as a turbulent childhood in foster care meant he would have to leave possessions behind whilst he was given to another set of optimistic parents.

There is something strange tingling in his stomach. This should be a bad idea, but Andrew can’t find the will to stop. He searches his brain for any sign of a _no_. He looks for any sign of hesitation buried in his mind. For the fifth time, he says _is this what you really want?_ _What if it hurts?_

_I won’t let you let me be._

His mind is empty of hesitation. His mind is buzzing with adrenaline and his fingers are trembling ever so slightly, something which he doesn't let Neil pick up on. 

Clambering over Neil’s body, he presses their mouths together, heat tugging at abdomen when Neil’s tongue easily slips into his mouth. Kissing is familiar ground. These kisses aren’t desperate but they aren’t slow either. There’s a certainty in them, a security which smooths the jagged edges of Andrew’s apprehension.

Andrew pushes Neil back so he is sat with his back against the headboard, several pillows shoved behind his back. “Stay there.”

Neil stays where he is told. He always has. There are boundaries set in place which Neil never even goes near, never dares to think about crossing.

Whenever fooling around with Roland, Andrew set boundaries. _Don’t touch here, don’t grab here_. Roland never had any intention to harm Andrew - he has the malicious intent of a fly - but accidentally, he would stumble over the boundaries. His hand would creep too close to Andrew’s shoulder, or his grip would become too tight. He never meant to misstep, but he did.

But Neil seems hyper aware of every _yes_ and every _no._ He seems to put Andrew's boundaries before his own. It's getting harder and harder to call this 'hate' as time goes on.

He tugs off the bottom half only. The shirt stays on.  Neil is watching his face carefully as he undresses and the air goes still as Andrew steps out of his underwear.

They stare at each other, gazes lingering for several heartbeats.

Then, almost methodically, Andrew grabs the lube from the bedside table, followed by a condom. A slight flush rises to Neil’s face but he manages to keep his composure. His hands stays fisted roughly in the sheets as Andrew climbs back onto Neil’s lap, settling at the top of his thighs and looking down at him. Heat gathers between their exposed skin.

“Where?” Neil breathes, eyes flicking between Andrew’s eyes and his cock.

Andrew watches him intently, never breaking eye contact. Neil's eyes are bright. Nobody else has those eyes.

“Below the hips only,” Andrew says. He sounds detached, but his breathing is ragged. “Don’t grab.”

Neil, doing as he’s told, slides his palms up Andrew’s legs and rests them there. Andrew trusts that they won’t move from that spot, won’t accidentally venture too far in the heat of the moment.

Andrew had already prepped himself earlier, but he still coats two of his fingers in lube. He isn’t sure _who_ he is doing this for - Neil wouldn’t rest easy if he thought Andrew hadn’t been well prepared, and Andrew doesn’t want this to feel like the times in the past, when it hurt so much that sitting down for a week afterward was barely an option.

He sinks down onto his fingers; his body remembers and relaxes. He focuses on Neil’s hands on his legs. He thinks about the feeling of Neil’s body, secure beneath his own. Andrew refuses to let the ghosts of old trauma dictate the way this goes. There is only Neil.

Only them.

“Say no at any time,” Andrew reminds him.

Neil nods, eyes transfixed on how Andrew's arm is moving behind his back. “Okay. And you.”

It doesn’t take long. Once Neil has the condom on his cock and Andrew is hovering above him, mere inches away, Andrew leans down and kisses him, gently and simply. Neil is sort of smiling, a small tilt of the lips, although he understands the delicate nature of this moment. He’s being careful.

Andrew is not fragile. He does not need to be _looked after_. But it helps to have this - this _trust_ , the bone-deep faith. The knowledge that Neil is there to catch him if he does end up falling.

Slowly, with all of the control in the world, Andrew shifts and presses down. There’s a stretch. Of course there is. He goes down and down and _down_ until he feels Neil press entirely inside of him, until Neil is as close as he can be, fully inside, his hips flush to Andrew’s ass.

It doesn’t hurt. With sickening relief, he realises that no memories of Drake or any of the others before him are resurfacing. The only person on his mind and in his sight is Neil, who is blushing underneath him, trying to regain his control.

Andrew recognises this feeling, but the stretch is welcome. A slight burn which can’t be helped.

Drake never bothered with preparation. Why would he have needed to? Andrew’s comfort wasn’t one of his goals. That felt awful, like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

Now Neil’s main priority is making him comfortable. Making this _good_.

“Andrew,” Neil says, more breath than words. He is breathing heavily, hands never straying from their spot on Andrew’s thighs. “Are you okay?”

Andrew takes a second to think, but he doesn’t need to. The answer is simple. He is fine. He is better than just _fine_ \- he is okay, he is content.

He doesn’t reply verbally, but starts to move. For Neil, that is answer enough.

Neil makes a strange, strangled gasp. Andrew knows how he feels. When the positions are switched, Neil’s tight heat is dizzying, an almost overwhelming feeling. The first time Andrew had fucked Neil, the world distorted. He felt so out of control that he had to pull out, had to finish it before either of them came. If he hadn’t, Andrew wouldn’t have been able to stop. And he wouldn’t let that happen.

But a _no_ looks like it’s the furthest thing from Neil’s mind right now.

He can feel his pulse racing, which means Neil feels it too. Andrew knows what he wants, yet nerves are unpredictable things, an undercurrent of anxiety gnawing at his stomach. The memories feel fresh. Merely four years ago, Andrew couldn’t handle touch. Not even from Neil.

And now Neil is inside of him, stretching him open in a deliriously pleasant way, hands on Andrew’s thighs and eyes on his face like he wouldn't trade this moment for any other.

After Andrew slowly gains speed and force, Neil’s breathing becomes heavier. He is trying to be quiet for the sake of the significance of the moment, but it looks like it's proving difficult.

“Let me hear you,” Andrew says. His voice is quiet, strained.

In answer, Neil lets out a low, long moan which goes straight to Andrew’s cock.

Eventually, they fall into a rhythm. It isn’t fast enough to be painful, but it isn’t slow enough to be frustrating. Time becomes almost a blur. Andrew isn’t sure how many minutes have passed, which should be a frightening fact in itself, but instead, he is content to watch Neil fall apart as he moves his hips, back and forward, back and forward until everything is just a pleasant game of push and pull.

One of Andrew’s hands grips Neil’s shoulder. The other traces the outline of his scars. The feel of the raised, damaged skin beneath his hand is enough to steady him. It reminds him that _this is Neil._ Not anybody else. Not Drake. Not any of the others who hurt him.

Andrew grinds down harder when he sees Neil get closer. A flicker of pleasure goes through him when Neil’s cock grazes that unfamiliar spot inside of him, punching a groan from his chest.

Andrew feels heat curl in his stomach, an orgasm slowly but surely building. His intention isn’t even to get off right now. He just wants this closeness, unspoiled by an orgasm. 

“ _Fuck,”_ Neil hisses. He looks entirely gone, clutching desperately to reality.

When Neil comes, he groans loudly, fingers digging in harder where they are pressed on Andrew’s thighs. The pressure isn’t hard enough to hurt. Andrew rocks his hips gently until Neil is entirely boneless.

“Andrew - are you - okay?” Neil’s words are punctuated by gasps for air. Some athlete he is. “Do you -”

Andrew lets Neil slips out of him, feeling open and vulnerable. He is still hard, but pulls on earlier discarded sweatpants and turns to Neil, who is still barely able to summon the will to move his legs.

He understands when Andrew says, “I’ll be back in a few minutes," in a dismissive tone.

It’s been a long time since Andrew has needed to leave to get himself off alone, but with a big step like this, Andrew needs some stability. He’s given himself entirely to Neil so far, and he needs to retain some kind of control.

After he leans against the bathroom door and jerks himself off, rougher than necessary, Andrew lets his mind settle.

Being alone is a breath of fresh air, but eventually fresh air grows boring. He wants the heat of Neil’s mouth, the reassuring weight of his hands, his gentle gaze.

Andrew lets his head drop back. He exhales.

* * *

It is ten minutes later that Andrew orders his thoughts and makes his way to the kitchen.

Neil is leaning against the counter. He is holding coffee. When he spots Andrew, his eyes come alive, tracking his steps and shooting him a half-hopeful, half-concerned look. Even from here, Andrew can tell there is doubt crawling across his skin. For someone who spent most of his life hiding, Neil isn’t very good at being subtle.

He just says, “Hey.”

Andrew takes the other cup of coffee and replies, mockingly, “Hey.”

It’s silent for a few seconds. It’s not the calm sort of silence which they’ve grown used to living in, the silence which is comfortable and warm. This type of silence is uncertain. Neil is shifting around. He is probably wondering whether he should go. But Andrew waits for Neil to figure out what he’s going to say - which takes longer than it should for somebody with such a smart mouth.

“You’re - you’re good?” Neil asks. 

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, faintly annoyed at Andrew’s deflection. “But you’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The crease between Neil’s brows deepens. “ I was worried - about it. That.”

Andrew studies Neil’s expression. Eventually, Andrew says, “I said yes.”

Neil opens his mouth again, but closes it when he realises there’s nothing he can really say to that. Something in him seems to have settled, though. Those three words seem to cool his burning skin.

Andrew walks closer, closing the small gap between them. Neil looks at him. Just _looks_ at him.

Neil stares at him with something warm in his eyes, and Andrew isn’t sure what to do with that. There is no other option but to kiss him. Kissing is familiar. Kissing is pleasant without being overwhelming.

“If I don’t want something,” Andrew says, pulling back to speak, “I don’t do it.”

“I know.”

“So stop fucking worrying,” Andrew says.

Kissing Neil is something Andrew doesn’t think will ever grow old. Each time is as exhilarating as if it is the first. Each gentle bite of Neil’s teeth into his lip sends thrills down his spine, every swipe of his tongue leaves Andrew shuddering.

“I liked it,” Neil says gently, letting Andrew trail kisses down the side of his jaw.

It takes him a second, but Andrew says, “Me too.” He smothers the admission into Neil’s skin, hoping that it will go unheard.

It doesn’t go unheard. Neil sighs, long and content., and Andrew can imagine how he is smiling.

They spend the rest of the day on the couch, watching shitty television shows with canned laughter and bad acting. Neither of them are really watching it, both too wrapped up in each other’s presence to really pay attention. Neil’s leg is pressed lightly against Andrew, a gentle reminder. _I am here_.

At some point, Neil lays out hand out in front of Andrew. It’s an offering. A silent _yes or no_?

Andrew, without hesitation, takes his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did Not know how to end this. like. at all.
> 
> BUT if u read this ... thankyou!! it means a lot to me!!! i love getting comments/feedback on my work!!


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